


The Christmas Episode

by wheel_pen



Series: Venkii [9]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mila believes in Santa Claus, or rather, Papa Nicholas as the Venkii call him. Trip scoffs at first, but then realizes she’ll be disappointed come Christmas Day, and tries to fulfill the role. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Episode

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Venkii are humans who left Earth long ago, and have a few extra enhancements by now. Mila is a young Venkii woman who has joined the crew of the Enterprise, in Engineering. She can communicate with the ship in a special way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Mila was frowning at him. Trip saw her out of the corner of his eye but couldn't exactly tell Ramirez to put a sock in it when she was talking about the results of a very important diagnostic scan. Although he might as well have, as he ended up only paying partial attention to Ramirez's report, distracted as he was by the idea of Mila possibly melting some crucial engine component in her impatience.

"Great, looks good," Trip was finally able to assure Ramirez, doing a quick double-check to make sure it did, in fact, look good. Heartened, the ensign set off for her next assignment, and Trip steeled himself to face Mila.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked casually, as if he'd just now noticed her.

"I have a question," she opened coolly.

Trip sighed. "Okay, the little blue glowing thing is the phase manifold inverter, and the little yellow blinking thing is the diamagnetic plasma lock. Just go ahead and put notes up on them, I don't care."

Mila narrowed her eyes at him. "While I do _appreciate_ your accommodation of my _deficiencies_ , Commander," she remarked, and the acid dripping from her lips practically etched a hole in the deck plating, "I had a _different_ question in mind."

"Oh." Trip cleared his throat. That's what he got for trying to be nice, he decided. "And that is?"

"Why is there a coniferous shrub in the Mess Hall?"

Trip blinked at her. "Um... what?"

"I assume you're unaware of it, because once again you ate half a sandwich while poring over reports in your office instead of having a proper lunch," Mila allowed chidingly, "but today, a coniferous shrub, slightly over one meter in height, has appeared in a corner of the Mess Hall."

The thought crossed Trip's mind to tell her to get back to work and only bother him with Engineering questions. But d—n her, now _he_ wanted to know why there was a... plant thing in the Mess Hall. "Um... was it... doing anything or... ?" he guessed wildly.

"I didn't _see_ it do anything," she reported. "People just sort of... looked at it and smiled."

Alright, Trip didn't mind admitting he had no idea. "Hey, Abijou," he said, catching the ensign walking by. The man stopped and looked up questioningly, and Trip suddenly realized he was about to sound like an idiot. Briefly he wondered if that had been Mila's plan all along. If so, well-played. "Was there a, I don't know, plant or something in the Mess Hall at lunch today?"

Abijou blinked at him, much as Trip had done to Mila. Trip assumed a commanding air, as if this were a perfectly normal question to ask in the middle of Engineering. Being the chief had its privileges, after all, as the ensign straightened up a little and replied quickly, "Chef put out a Christmas tree today, sir, if that's what you mean."

Trip rolled his eyes and turned back to Mila, dismissing the ensign. "A Christmas tree," he repeated indignantly. "Why did you say it was a carnivorous shrub?"

"First of all, I said _coniferous_ , meaning an evergreen, cone-bearing gymnospermous plant, not _carnivorous_ , meaning meat-eating," the young woman corrected haughtily. Trip gave her a look. "Secondly, what do you mean, a Christmas tree? What has the tree to do with Christmas?"

"Wait, you _know_ about Christmas?" Trip probed, surprised.

Mila looked slightly affronted. "Of course. Christmas is a very important holiday for the Venkii. Well, for Archelus clan anyway."

"Huh," Trip remarked. "Well, I guess that makes sense, I mean, they had Christmas back in the Renaissance or whenever your ancestors were scooped up." He was about to say more when a panel nearby started beeping and he turned to examine it.

Mila waited approximately three seconds, then put her finger on the panel. The beeping stopped. Trip gave her a sharp look. "Did you fix what it was beeping about, or just shut it up?" he asked suspiciously.

"What has a coniferous shrub to do with Christmas?" Mila persisted.

Not fully trusting her, Trip set the panel to running a diagnostic. "Look, I've got an Engineering department to run here," he pointed out testily, eyes on the results streaming by. "Why don't you go ask someone else about Christmas?"

"They're all busy," Mila replied.

"And I'm not?" he demanded.

Mila touched the panel again. The diagnostic readings jumped, then dropped back to displaying the normal parameters. "There you go."

Trip sighed with exasperation. "Did you actually _fix_ it," he repeated, "or did you just screw with the diagnostic?"

"I fixed it," Mila assured him, offended.

"Well, what was wrong with it?" Trip asked.

"I have no idea," she admitted without shame. "Something wasn't aligned properly. Now it is."

"Woman," Trip snapped, thoroughly frustrated, "when are you gonna learn that all these little pieces and panels and processes have _names_?!"

"I am well aware of the fact that they _have_ names," Mila replied caustically. "I simply have difficulty remembering them. For being so unsophisticated, your systems are arrayed with a level of convolution that can only be described as 'byzantine.'"

Trip closed his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten, released the breath, opened his eyes. D‑‑n. She was still there. "Find out what you just fixed, and write me a report on it," he told her, sounding far calmer than he felt. "And would you _please_ try to memorize some more systems? Thank you."

Mila pursed her lips but said nothing, which Trip decided to take as acquiescence. Turning away from her he started to head back to his office. "Are you going to tell me about how Earth-borns celebrate Christmas?" she needled quickly.

"Can't you just look it up?" he asked her distractedly, checking another panel as he went by.

There was a pause, just long enough to give Trip the sinking feeling that he'd said something wrong. Hurriedly he looked back at her, but the stiffness had come into her spine and the generic mask of superiority had dropped over her face. As opposed to the expression of superiority she reserved _only_ for Trip. "Of course," she replied coolly.

"Uh, Mila, I—"

"I shall do it immediately," she continued, turning to the panel behind her, her back to him. "I daresay I shall have plenty of mental capacity available, despite tracking down and documenting this _minor_ adjustment."

"Right," he decided, sighing. He had his work to focus on, he told himself, he couldn't worry about every little bruised feeling Mila got. Yet somehow, he _did_. Most disturbing.

 

There was indeed a coniferous shrub in the Mess Hall when Trip finally wandered in for dinner that evening. It had been propped up on a small table in the corner and actually _did_ look a little odd, as Chef hadn't gotten around to decorating it yet. Trip wandered closer to it and sniffed. Of course, it was artificial. He should have expected that—where was Chef going to find a _real_ pine tree in the middle of deep space?

Turning around with his tray of food—it was Mexican night in the Mess Hall, however incongruous that seemed with the evergreen tree—Trip spotted Mila and Hoshi at a table. Taking a deep breath, he pointed himself in that direction and forced himself to walk forward. He hadn't really spoken to Mila much the rest of their shift and he was more than a little afraid that she was still ticked at him. Despite the fact that he _knew_ she had no _reason_ to be ticked—insisting that she work on engineering tasks while on shift in Engineering was hardly irrational behavior, after all—he _also_ knew irrationality was no barrier with Mila. Indeed, when she caught his approach in her peripheral vision, Trip saw her tense up, just a little, and focus more fully on whatever Hoshi was saying. Yeah, definitely still ticked at him, then.

"Hi, ladies," he interrupted cheerfully, with forced casualness. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, Commander," Hoshi assured him pleasantly, scooting her tray over a bit.

Trip settled down between them and picked up his fork, poking at the burritos and refried beans. "So, what've you been up to today, Hoshi?" he asked, hoping he hadn't killed the conversation entirely.

The Communications Officer rolled her eyes. "Sitting on the Bridge, _all day_ , listening to the Captain fidget on about twelve different levels," she sighed. Trip smirked. Despite his love for engineering, he'd once felt a little slighted that T'Pol had been given the First Officer post over him; but since then, Trip had learned that _not_ being required on the Bridge at all times had distinct advantages. Such as not having to sit around on your butt for eight hours on a dull day in space.

"I've been working on some translations of the Klingon data we downloaded last month," Hoshi continued, frustration evident in her tone. "But I just can't get some of it to make sense." She looked up at Trip intently. "Did you know that there are over eighty different dialects of Klingon used by five percent or more of the population?" Pinned by her gaze, Trip shook his head quickly. Hoshi stabbed viciously at a piece of chicken on her plate. "And we only have partial linguistic data on about a dozen of them. Besides which," she added, and Trip was beginning to be sorry he'd even asked, "I don't just need the _written_ word, I need stylized pronunciations."

Trip frowned a little and risked another question. "Just what exactly are you trying to translate?"

"Klingon opera," Hoshi replied eagerly.

" _Klingon opera?_ " Trip repeated incredulously. He shook his head. "Two great tastes that taste great together," he muttered sarcastically.

Hoshi gave him the same sort of disapproving gaze Mila usually wore when looking at him. "It may not be to _everyone's_ taste," she remarked coolly, her tone indicating that those who had _other_ tastes were clearly in the wrong, "but many of the passages are actually quite moving."

Trip imagined himself _moving_ towards the exit if in earshot of Klingon opera, but he decided to hold his tongue, for once. He'd already managed to thoroughly offend enough people for one day. "I see Chef's got a tree up for Christmas," he commented after a moment of silence, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. Although this one was likely to get him back into trouble again as well.

The topic seemed to cheer Hoshi up at least. "Yes, I didn't realize how close we were getting until I saw it. Only two weeks!"

"Hoshi and I have been discussing the various Christmas traditions of Earth," Mila announced pointedly, speaking for the first time since Trip sat down. "I had a number of questions after the research I did this afternoon." She met Trip's eye for the briefest admonishing glance before returning her focus to the taco she was dismantling on her plate.

"We've also been talking about the Venkii Christmas traditions," Hoshi added, and the look in her eye was amused in a secret sort of way that made Trip immediately suspicious. "There are some remarkable... _similarities_ to current Earth celebrations."

"Oh really?" Trip responded, mildly interested.

"Unfortunately," Hoshi continued, gathering her dinner items back onto her tray and starting to rise, "I'm due in Sickbay for my Denobulan grammar lesson with Dr. Phlox."

"Um, have fun with that," Trip wished her dubiously.

"Oh, I will," Hoshi assured him with an unnatural glint of eagerness in her eye. "We're going to work on the pegative case tonight—there's only _one_ Earth language that has this kind of case, in the southwest portion of old Mexico, oddly enough"—she glanced at her half-eaten quesadilla—"so I haven't had a lot of opportunity to study its use."

Trip really didn't know what to say to that, but fortunately Hoshi didn't seem to require an answer. "Good night, Hoshi," Mila told her.

"Yeah, see ya tomorrow," Trip added.

The Comm Officer nodded her good-bye and disappeared with her tray, leaving a slightly uncomfortable silence behind at the table with Trip and Mila.

"Did you get my report?" the young woman finally asked crisply, not looking at him.

"Yes, I did," Trip replied quickly. "It was very... thorough."

"I wanted to be _complete_ in my description of the realignment of the _sub-quantum particle depolarizing relay_ ," she continued, sounding as though she had practiced the phrase several times.

"Seven pages, plus diagrams," Trip agreed evenly. "It was quite complete."

"I accomplished fifty-seven other tasks in Engineering today," Mila pointed out. "A list of which I appended to my report."

"Yes," Trip commented, trying to keep his tone neutral. "I noticed that. Of course, number fifty-seven was, 'Sent Commander Tucker list of accomplishments for the day,' so I'm not sure that _really_ counts."

"I just wanted you to know that I am fully capable of splitting my concentration while at work," she told him, though a bit more earnestly than Trip was expecting. She stared down at the taco filling she was mashing in the middle of her plate. "It's not as if I—slack off or anything."

"No, I didn't think that," Trip assured her, mutilating his own burrito rather grotesquely.

Mila gave a sniff of disdain and when she spoke her voice again carried the pleasantly familiar arrogance Trip preferred. "The tasks assigned to me on a daily basis are hardly an efficient use of my capabilities," she concluded.

"Yeah, I know," Trip agreed, more companionably. "I seem to recall something about a swimming pool in the conference room." He smirked at the faint flush that appeared on Mila's cheeks.

"Should've left it there," she suggested tartly. "It would've been an excellent recreational resource for the crew."

Feeling considerably more at ease, Trip actually consumed some of his meal before taking the plunge and asking, "So... the Venkii don't have Christmas trees?"

"Well, we don't really have _trees_ ," Mila reminded him. "Certainly not enough for every family to have one to decorate each year. Instead we use potted plants." Trip gave her a doubtful look. "There are about half a dozen varieties that are preferred, which are trained to flower around Christmastime. Families arrange several pots in the common area of the quarters, and that's where our shoes and the gifts are left."

Trip swallowed a bite of rice. "Shoes?"

"Hoshi was explaining to me about 'Christmas stockings,'" Mila continued, with some bemusement, "which have apparently evolved from ordinary protective footwear to specialized decorative objects. As Venkii women do not _wear_ socks at all, our tradition has always been to leave our shoes or boots out for Papa Nicholas to fill."

"Yeah, Santa Claus," Trip remarked, a fond smile on his face. "I remember when me and my brother and sister were little, and we were _so excited_ Christmas Eve, knowin' Santa was gonna come that night." For once memories involving Lizzie did not seem too painful to relish. "Any ordinary day, our parents practically had to pry us outta bed with a crowbar, but Christmas morning we'd be up with the sun."

"It's very similar among Archelus clan," Mila concurred. "The young children being very eager to see what Papa Nicholas left them on Christmas morning. The older we get, the longer we're supposed to be able to wait," she sighed.

Trip smiled a little in sympathy. "Yeah, it can be tough being an older kid around Christmastime," he decided. "I remember when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real, I was _so_ disillusioned. 'Course I wanted to run and tell my youngest sister Lizzie, just to be mean, you know, but my mom said—" Trip glanced up to find Mila staring at him. "What?"

"What do you mean, your Santa Claus wasn't 'real'?"

Trip blinked at her. "Well, I mean, um, he wasn't _literally_ real," he clarified. "Actually, that's exactly what my mom said, when I came home and accused her and my dad of 'lying' to me all those years... She said that Santa Claus wasn't a _real_ guy who went around leaving people presents, it was more of an _idea_ , you know, about doin' nice things for other people and keepin' a little bit of magic alive for younger kids." Mila was still staring at him. "It was kind of a nice way to put it, I always thought." Still staring. Trip began to feel unnerved. "What?"

"On Earth, Santa Claus isn't a _real_ person?"

"Well... no," Trip replied, confused. "I mean, I think he was based on some real historical guy, some saint or something—Saint Nicholas, I guess—but no, he's not, like... _real_."

"But there _used_ to be a real person who delivered gifts to all the people in the world on Christmas Eve?" Mila persisted.

"No, no, I see where you're gettin' confused," Trip explained confidently. "Like I said, there was some historical guy, once, who did some nice stuff for kids in his... village or whatever, and the story became famous. A legend. So then people started tellin' this to their kids, you know, that it was Santa Claus leavin' gifts for them in the night, and this whole story built up about reindeer and the North Pole and elves and stuff like that."

"But it's not true?"

"No," Trip confirmed. "It's just for fun, for kids, around the holidays. I mean, like I said, I think of it more like a metaphor, an inspiration to do something nice for—"

"Then who leaves the presents on Christmas Eve?" Mila interrupted.

Trip felt she was becoming a little fixated on this point. "Well, the parents do," he told her, trying to be patient.

"The parents."

"Yeah," Trip insisted. "On Christmas morning, my brother and sisters and I would have gifts that were signed from our parents, and other gifts that were signed from Santa Claus, but in reality our parents got them all." Mila sat silently digesting this. "Then when we got older and we didn't really believe in Santa anymore, we just all gave each other presents and signed them from whoever." He glanced at her with some doubts about her understanding. "Um, you said you guys leave presents by your potted plants, right? Along with your shoes?"

"Yes," Mila agreed, slightly distracted. "Family members get each other gifts—siblings to siblings, parents to children, children to parents—that we put out by the Christmas flowers, sometimes many days in advance of Christmas morning. We disguise the gifts in some way," she added quickly, "wrapping them with cloth or putting them into boxes or bags or something, so they will be a surprise when unveiled."

"Well right, exactly," Trip nodded. "That's what we do on Earth. We usually use colorful bags or special decorated paper to wrap our presents."

Mila still looked perplexed. Disturbed, even. "So then on Christmas morning, we have the gifts that we got for each other, and we _also_ have the gifts that Papa Nicholas left in the night, including whatever he put in our shoes."

Trip gazed at her intently for a moment. "You mean, the adults put out _new_ presents that the kids haven't seen before, and _say_ they're from this Papa Nicholas."

"No," Mila corrected seriously. "Papa Nicholas brings them. In the night."

For a moment Trip just looked at her. Then he started to chuckle. "You had me goin' there for a minute," he admitted cheerfully. "That was good."

Mila's expression hadn't changed. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I mean," Trip stuttered, "Papa Nicholas isn't _real_ , anymore than Santa Claus is real on Earth."

"Yes he is."

"Are you pullin' my leg?"

"No."

"No, seriously, Mila," Trip insisted, "you don't _really_ believe in Santa Claus still?"

"Well, I don't know anything about this Santa Claus," she sniffed loftily, "but Papa Nicholas is real."

"Oh my G-d," Trip exclaimed, rolling his eyes and tossing his napkin down in exasperation.

"He _is_ real," Mila maintained, starting to get a little huffy. "On Christmas Eve, Papa Nicholas brings gifts to all the good Archelus children and leaves them by our Christmas flowers. Children who've been naughty get a block of wood instead."

"A block of _wood_?" Trip repeated incredulously.

"As punishment," Mila confirmed. "We can't _do_ anything with wood, you see, it's just inert for us. Now when you get to be more of an adult Papa Nicholas rather drops the whole morality thing and just leaves gifts for everyone over a certain age."

"Okay, look, just—NO," Trip protested, shoving his half-eaten dinner aside in frustration. He took a deep breath. "Wait, wait, wait, let's back up a step. You mean, there's some guy, one of the Venkii on the ship, who is somehow designated Papa Nicholas for the night, and he somehow gets presents for everyone and sneaks into everyone's quarters Christmas Eve and leaves the gifts. And then the next day he goes back to being the doctor or the navigator or whatever."

"No," Mila told him sharply. "Papa Nicholas is a magical figure who boards the ship only on Christmas Eve, to leave gifts." Her expression turned thoughtful. "There are a number of theories about what he does the rest of the year, but nothing has ever been conclusively proven." She narrowed her gaze at Trip. "But he most certainly does _not_ turn into the doctor or the navigator or _whatever_ the next day."

"You're serious."

"Absolutely."

"Mila, that's insane!" Trip tried harder to sound reasonable. "Look, what about security, huh? Venkii ships are supposed to be fabulously secure, internal sensors, everything. If this guy appears on your ship, hasn't anyone recorded him yet?"

"Of course not," Mila scoffed. "Because Papa Nicholas has magical powers."

"I suppose these magical powers _also_ prevent his ship from showin' up on your _external_ sensors," Trip sighed.

"Certainly."

"And he _magically_ has insight into what _everyone_ on the ship wants as a gift, _and_ whether they've been good enough to deserve it."

"Well, as I said, he only enforces the ethical conventions on children," Mila reminded him, "but basically, yes."

"Okay," Trip began slowly, "how many Venkii are there?"

"There are five clan ships, each with about six thousand members," Mila answered.

"So that's _thirty thousand_ people Papa Nicholas has to bring gifts for, all in one night," Trip calculated.

"Well..." Mila interrupted pensively, and Trip finally thought the light might be dawning. "Only Archelus clan has the tradition of Papa Nicholas. But," she decided, "most of the other clans have a figure who brings gifts to everyone in the night—a god or spirit, or the ghosts of their ancestors or something. So if we assume that all these figures, including Papa Nicholas, are one and the same," she concluded, "then yes, he brings gifts for about thirty thousand people. Although not all in one night, because the other clans' holidays take place on different days."

Trip had rested his forehead on his arms during her explanation, fighting the urge to simply bang it against the tabletop. "That's still at least _six thousand_ gifts he has to deliver, in _one_ night," he pointed out tiredly.

"Plus the little things he fills the shoes with," Mila added helpfully. "Usually that's candy or trinkets or something."

"It's impossible!" Trip insisted. People eating at neighboring tables were beginning to stare at them. "He's got a ship large enough to carry six thousand gifts, plus several tons of candy, but it doesn't show up on your sensors. He's got approximately what, six hours, in which to distribute all these gifts, to the right people, without being detected either by internal sensors or by people working the night shift. Not to mention the fact that he has to somehow divine what each person wants and acquire it, as well as determining whether they deserve it, if a child."

"That's about the size of it," Mila agreed.

"It. Is. Not. Possible!"

"Frankly, I'm not surprised Papa Nicholas has ceased to visit Earth children," Mila commented tartly, "if _this_ is the sort of cynicism Earth society has devolved into."

"Please, please, _please_ tell me you are just messin' with me," Trip begged.

"I most certainly am not," she shot back. Mila was quiet a moment while Trip buried his face in his arms, exhausted by her unshakeable belief in the ridiculous. "I wonder if Papa Nicholas knows that I'm on _Enterprise_ now," she mused, some worry creeping into her voice.

"Well he can do all the other stuff," Trip pointed out flippantly. "Why wouldn't he be able to locate you anywhere in the whole freakin' galaxy?"

"Well, that is a good point," Mila agreed, ignoring his sarcasm. "My aunt was stationed at a religious sanctuary on Betazed for several years, and Papa Nicholas always brought presents for her and her team there."

"Probably drawn by the light of your true beliefs," Trip commented dryly.

Mila narrowed her eyes at him. "Papa Nicholas is not a religious belief," she corrected. "Although we have some of those associated with Christmas as well. You are obviously in no fit state to discuss _those_ , however," she added harshly, "as you reacted so badly to a tradition based on solid fact instead of faith." With that Mila stood stiffly and started to carry her tray away.

Trip was chuckling to himself, more out of desperation than anything else. She couldn't possibly be serious. Really. It wasn't like Mila had a fanciful streak or anything like that. Granted the Venkii didn't live by strict logic the way Vulcans did, but Trip had always gotten the impression that they were fairly pragmatic folk, sophisticated and experienced with a vast knowledge of the ways of other species. They were not given to excessive whimsy or mysticism or elaborate holiday constructions as far as _he_ had seen.

So either Mila was pulling one h—l of a good joke on Trip.

Or Mila's parents had pulled one h—l of a good joke on _her._

"There is no such thing as Santa Claus!" he shouted one last time across the Mess Hall, drawing surprised glances from the other diners. Mila turned at the door to shoot him a final glare that held just a _touch_ of pity for the poor deceived and deprived children born of Earth, then walked out.

 

_"You gotta invite Mila for dinner this week, sir! You don't want to miss this!"_

Archer was beginning to wish he _had_ decided to miss dinner with Mila and Trip, as he suspected the conversation they insisted upon wasn't exactly going to aid his digestion.

"Wait, wait, wait," Trip interrupted, putting his fork down. "Jesus was a _woman_?!"

"Of course," Mila confirmed, cutting her chicken into ever-smaller pieces. "When Mara was granted the ability to conceive a child without having sexual intercourse with her late fiancé Josef, she was also able to choose its sex."

"And naturally she chose a girl," Trip surmised.

"Naturally," Mila agreed, "as Venkii women have special abilities the men do not."

"Okay, okay," Trip conceded, "but _why_ was it so important she have a baby?"

Mila sighed as though Trip were missing a fundamental component of the story. "Because, _as I said_ , the most important command the Star Spirit had given the people was to increase their population."

"'Be fruitful and multiply,'" Trip smirked.

"Precisely," Mila told him. "It was considered a great tragedy for a man to die without leaving any children behind. But as Josef was lying on his deathbed, they couldn't exactly try to fix that problem in the conventional manner."

Archer tried not to let his eyes flicker longingly towards the bottle of Risan wine on the sideboard. He knew better than to introduce it to the meal a second time—the water damage from the hot tub alone had taken a week to repair—but the fine details of religious beliefs were not exactly the most interesting topic to him. Seeing the artifacts and rituals at a Vulcan sanctuary was one thing; listening to the minutiae of doctrine over dinner was something else entirely, even if it _did_ have certain similarities to stories on Earth. Jon's mother had sent him to Sunday School when he was young, but his father had never really believed in anything he couldn't take apart and put back together with his own two hands. Jon had once told a group of visiting alien holy men that he "tried to keep an open mind." But he had also discovered it was hard to keep one's mind open if it got filled up with religious fine print.

"So the Star Spirit gave Mara this ability, and she conceived the Star Child, who grew up, formed a ministry, performed miracles, and was ultimately murdered for Her beliefs by marauding aliens," Mila summarized.

"But who, exactly, were this kid's biological parents?" Trip persisted. His parents had never been quite as devout as his Pentecostal grandmother would have preferred, but Trip had attended his fair share of religious services and church camps in his youth—there was even that brief time in his early teens when he'd contemplated becoming a minister himself. _Briefly_. Right before he'd finally discovered girls, and they'd discovered _him_ , and his thoughts for the future took a decidedly more earthy turn.

"Well, if you could do a DNA test on the Star Child," Mila replied a bit sarcastically, "you would see Her parents were Mara and Josef. But of course She would not have come into existence at all if the Star Spirit hadn't facilitated the process. Hence the Star Child is often represented as a three-part being, a Holy Trinity of the Star Spirit, Woman, and Man."

"In that order," Trip suggested dryly.

"Naturally."

The engineer shook his head. "Don't that just beat all, Captain?" he asked of Archer, having completely failed to notice that Archer hadn't said anything for the last ten minutes.

"Absolutely," Jon agreed quickly. "It's... fascinating to see how the two sets of beliefs have diverged over time." Neither Trip nor Mila stared at him in confusion after that remark, so he concluded he must have said the appropriate thing.

"I've had some very enlightening conversations with the religious counselors on board," Mila added, nibbling a piece of chicken. "I may write an essay comparing the different versions, including the variations found just on Earth, to send back to Archelus clan."

A mischievous glint suddenly appeared in Trip's eye, and while that _usually_ signaled to Archer that something inadvisable was about to occur, in this case he was almost glad for the distraction. "I imagine everyone in Archelus clan is decoratin' for the holiday right about now," he suggested innocently, _too_ innocently. "Puttin' out the potted plants for Papa Nicholas and all."

Mila glared at him. Archer ignored her expression and seized upon a phrase of interest to him. "Papa Nicholas? Is he like Santa Claus?"

"Oh yeah," Trip assured him, when Mila remained silent. "Papa Nicholas brings gifts to _all_ of Archelus clan on Christmas Eve, even the grown-ups."

"That's a nice tradition," Jon remarked, completely oblivious to the death rays shooting from Mila's eyes to Trip's sly grin. "My father was never really into Christmas—we had a tree and presents, of course, but we didn't really talk about Santa Claus." He smiled a little ruefully. "My father said, he didn't want to tell me any 'lies.'"

Unwittingly Jon had just given Trip the perfect intro. "Oh, Papa Nicholas isn't a _lie_ ," the engineer replied, mock-serious. "Papa Nicholas is _real_."

Archer finally noticed the tension in the room and glanced cautiously between Trip and Mila. "Oh?" he said after a moment, as neutrally as possible, wondering what kind of minefield Trip had led him into _this_ time.

Mila straightened in her chair, pointedly ignored Trip, and explained cordially to the Captain, "I understand that among many Earth cultures, this 'Santa Claus' is considered a pleasant myth observed mainly by children. However," she added, shooting Trip a brief glare that would have quailed an ordinary man, "in Archelus clan, Papa Nicholas is an _actual_ figure who uses his magical powers to deliver gifts once a year."

"Oh," Archer repeated, striving for the same neutral tone. "You mean 'magical'... metaphorically?"

"No," Mila answered shortly.

"Papa Nicholas _really_ visits their ship, with six thousand labeled gifts he _really_ delivers, all in one night," Trip informed Archer smartly. "Only they've never caught him on sensors or anything, because he's _magical_."

Mila's body language suggested she was about to stick her fork in Trip's head. "Well, that's very interesting," Archer told her hurriedly, hoping to distract her obviously murderous thoughts a bit.

"I _know_ Papa Nicholas is real," Mila said, very carefully. Trip rolled his eyes and readied his next line of attack. "I've seen him."

The quietly uttered words were like a small bomb dropped in the room, to Trip anyway. Eyes wide, he stared at her for a moment then gasped, "What?! You said _no one_ ever saw him!"

"There are occasional sightings," Mila clarified slowly, twirling some uneaten noodles around her fork. "Down a dim hallway, around a corner, just glimpses. For the most part."

"But _you_ actually _saw_ him," Trip persisted, more intrigued than he would have admitted aloud.

"I did," she confirmed. Her tone was not the usual confident, slightly arrogant one that Archer was used to; instead her voice was soft, mysterious, almost... awed. Both he and Trip unconsciously leaned forward as she continued her story. "It was many years ago, when I was just a little girl. We had had our Christmas Eve festivities and everyone had been sent to bed. For some reason, I don't know why, I woke up in the middle of the night. I tried and tried but couldn't go back to sleep. Finally I slipped out of my bedroom into the hallway. Not that I was going to look into the common room," she assured them quickly, "I suppose I just wanted to walk a bit. But then I heard a noise."

She paused, her mind clearly traveling several years back and several million miles away. "I tiptoed, very quietly, down the hall and just peeked my head around the corner, into the common room, where I'd heard the noise. And there he was. Papa Nicholas."

Mila favored Trip and Archer with a smile far gentler and more wistful than anything they'd witnessed before. "He was standing beside our group of Christmas flowers, dressed in his red and white robes, with a long white beard and a pointed red cap, and he was pulling colorful packages out of a cargo container and setting them on the floor by our shoes. Of course I was terrified," Mila added, "terrified that he would turn around and see me out of bed, and take back my present. So I backed away and ran down the hall to my room, threw myself into bed, and shut my eyes tightly. In just a few minutes I was asleep. In the morning I woke up with everyone else and ran into the common room, and there was my present from Papa Nicholas, right beside my shoes."

She concluded her story with a satisfied smile and a nod, her words hanging on the air.

At least until Trip sputtered, "It was your _dad_!"

"What?" Mila snapped at him, and the moment was shattered.

"It was your _dad_ , dressed up like Papa Nicholas, puttin' the presents out!" Trip sounded supremely impressed with himself for solving the mystery, at least in _his_ opinion.

Mila appeared not only unconvinced but also downright offended. "My father would _never_ impersonate Papa Nicholas," she insisted intolerably.

"It was your _dad_!" Trip repeated, practically choking with laughter now. "With all those kids, he figured the odds were pretty high at least _one_ of you would sneak out in the night, so he dressed up in a robe with a fake beard for when he put out the presents! Then if you came creepin' along, you'd see who you _thought_ was Papa Nicholas!" Mila was staring at him, aghast at his suggestion. "My dad used to do the same thing for us kids," Trip continued enthusiastically. "He'd dress up like Santa, make just enough noise that Eddie and Lizzie and me would jump outta bed and peek around the corner to see him, then our mom would chase us back to our rooms! We'd wake up _convinced_ we'd really seen Santa puttin' out our presents!"

"That—idea is—completely—" Nearly speechless Mila turned an appealing gaze on Archer.

The Captain had to shake his head unhelpfully, barely suppressing a grin. "My uncle used to dress up as Santa for the local grade school's holiday pageant," he explained. "He'd sit in the corner at the potluck with the red and white suit, fake beard, hat, everything, and all the little kids would take their turn sitting on his lap to tell him what they wanted for Christmas."

"Years later," Trip added to his own story, "me and my brother were cleaning out the attic and we found the old Santa suit in a trunk!" He shook his head with a smirk. "Sure explained some of the weird things I remembered from Christmas Eve when I was little."

"Isn't there—there's an old song about that, isn't there?" Archer prompted, racking his brain.

"Oh yeah, yeah," Trip agreed, trying to dredge it up. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and burst into song. " _I saw Mommy kissin' Santa Claus/Underneath the mistletoe last night_..."

Archer chuckled and nodded along—until he caught sight of Mila's expression. She appeared nothing short of horrified—not the over-dramatic sort of wide-eyed horrified, but truly and deeply disturbed. "What is it?" he asked with some concern. Trip's singing hadn't been _that_ bad.

"Nothing," Mila gasped out, dropping her eyes quickly to her plate.

Trip and Archer exchanged glances. Mila usually never lost an opportunity to explain _exactly_ what she thought was wrong with them. "No, really," the Captain probed carefully. "What's wrong?"

"It's just—For all the differences between our cultures, I just—" She seemed to be having trouble even forming the words. "I just never—imagined that Earth would have reached a point where people— _masqueraded_ as Papa Nicholas—made him the object of their—sexual fantasies..."

Trip and Archer gaped her, then each other, then back at her. "Sexual fantasies!?" Trip repeated, nearly as bothered as Mila had been. "Now hold on a minute, I never said _anything_ about—"

"Papa Nicholas is a revered figure of kindness and generosity and—I'm sorry, I just—" Mila shook her head. "I just can't even imagine..." Her voice trailed off as she stared at her plate.

Uncomfortable silence gripped the room for a few moments. Finally Jon decided that as Captain it was _his_ job to break the tension and cleared his throat. "Uh, maybe you would like to check out some of the movies, literature... music that's been inspired by Christmas over the last few hundred years," he suggested delicately. "To get a more—more _complete_ picture of how the holiday is celebrated on Earth." His tone dropped off lamely towards the end.

"I'm sure that would be very beneficial," Mila agreed automatically, not meeting either of their gazes. Archer sighed and gave the Risan wine bottle another yearning glance. As soon as Mila excused herself from dinner—which he had a feeling would be momentarily—he knew he and Trip were _really_ going to need it.

 

Mila had been on shift for more than three hours the next day when Trip finally worked up the nerve to talk to her. "So, um," he began awkwardly, trying to appear as though he were just casually walking by when in fact he had been bucking himself up for the past fifteen minutes to approach her. "How's it going?"

Her expression giving away nothing, Mila handed him a data pad. "This is a list of the twenty-three tasks I have accomplished so far today," she pointed out unceremoniously.

Trip skimmed the record, determined to be nothing but complimentary today. Not that it was difficult; her achievements were always genuinely impressive. "Got that done... Oh, yeah, glad you got around to this one... That's good..." he murmured as he perused the list. "Got that one... Got the—Wait a minute," he said suddenly, voice rising. "You recalibrated the F11 relay?"

Mila blinked at him. "Yes. Number fourteen on the list, I believe."

Trip frowned deeply. "Why wasn't I informed about the energy reroute?"

"I didn't know it required your approval."

"For the love of—" Trip's resolution of graciousness for the day flew out the airlock. "You had to reroute the energy flow of a _major_ subsystem relay for a good _hour_ and you didn't think you should run that by the Chief Engineer first?" Clearly, she _didn't_. "Mila, what if the system you rerouted it through had an overload? What if someone else was working downstream and compressed the flow even further? You could've shorted out half the systems on the ship! Don't you _know_ that by now?"

Okay, maybe that last sentence was unnecessary. She was definitely peeved at him again. Although instead of firing back like she usually did, she was just shaking her head in frustration and clenching her jaw. But d----t, she _had_ to learn the rules one of these days—and this wasn't some "mere" matter of protocol or efficiency, this was a _safety_ issue.

"Which system did you reroute it through?" he demanded, calling up the energy use logs for the morning. Obviously there hadn't been a complete overload, but if she'd picked one of the more vulnerable systems it might have been stressed by the extra power and thrown out of alignment. "Which system?" Trip asked again, more sharply, when she didn't answer right away.

"I rerouted the energy through _me_ ," Mila finally spat, tightly controlled. "And it only took me fifteen minutes to recalibrate that relay."

Trip stared at her in surprise. "You—rerouted the energy through... _you_?" he repeated. She gave him a look. "You can—do that?"

"Obviously."

"And it doesn't—hurt?"

"Actually," she replied coolly, "I rather enjoy it." With that she snatched the data pad out of his hands and turned away, climbing rapidly up the nearby ladder to the upper level.

Trip was frozen in place for a minute, thinking her answer over, then he rolled his eyes and resigned himself to the fact that he had, once again, let his temper get the best of him. Something about Mila just brought that out in him, he decided. Quickly he jumped onto the lift and arrived on the catwalk at the same time she did.

"Mila," he began, just as she turned her back on him. "Hang on a minute, Mila." She faced him with an overly patient gaze, arms crossed over her chest. "Okay, look, I apologize for snappin' at you," he told her. "I guess I shoulda known you wouldn't risk an overload." She seemed marginally satisfied with his explanation, if the slight relaxation of her posture was anything to go by. "But next time you're gonna do something like that, would you _please_ let me know in advance? I don't want you gettin' fried in the middle of Engineering." Trip gave her a little smile, trying to ease the tension.

Mila didn't exactly smile back, but he hadn't really expected that. "It seems very unlikely that I would be 'fried'," she assured him. "But I shall try to inform you before I attempt it again."

"Thank you." They stood there for a minute, Trip not really wanting to leave but not sure what else to say. Since he was on the apology track he kind of wanted to say something about dinner the night before, but he also really didn't want to bring the whole subject up again. "Um... Have you had a chance to look at any Christmas movies or anything?" Well, probably not, he chided himself as soon as the words were out—it hadn't even been suggested to her that long ago.

"I have," Mila confirmed.

"Really?"

"I was accessing them in the ship's database last night, and also while I performed my other tasks today."

Right, of course. Because Mila could watch a movie at the same time she performed a realignment on delicate circuits. Probably also at the same time she brushed her teeth, piloted a shuttle, and made coffee. Well, Trip amended, concealing his sudden grin, probably not the shuttle bit.

"So which ones have you seen?" Trip inquired as they started to stroll the catwalk. Mila trailed her hand along the upper bulkheads; a quick peek at his scanner revealed she was stripping the excess magnetized particles from the relays embedded within, a task his staff normally found tedious and labor-intensive.

"I have watched _Miracle on 34 th Street_, _Elf_ , _The Polar Express_ , as well as several films which purport to give biographical information on Santa Claus," she reported easily.

Trip frowned as he realized all her choices seemed geared towards supporting the existence of Santa as a real being. "Where'd you get that list of movies?" he questioned, following her around a corner.

"Ensign Sato helped me compile it," Mila replied, hesitating at one spot on the wall. "She was kind enough to assist me when we met in the hall after dinner last night."

"Something wrong?" he asked, nodding at the wall.

"Sticky phase coupler," she shrugged, starting to move on. Then she pinned him with a look. "I'll write you a report about it."

"Thanks."

"Ensign Mayweather was also keen to aid me," Mila continued. "He suggested a classic article of cinema entitled _Santa Claus Conquers the Martians._ " She missed Trip's incredulous expression. "Surely you've heard of it. A group of Martians kidnap Santa Claus from Earth and bring him to Mars, hoping that he will be able to supply the same sort of happiness and goodwill to Martian children as he has to the children of Earth." She paused thoughtfully. "Though the movie was outwardly simplistic, I found the characters' travails to have... a deep resonance. It was really quite insightful."

" _Santa Claus Conquers the Martians_ ," Trip repeated dryly. "Insightful." He snorted. "You know, there's a lot of other Christmas-themed movies _besides_ those involving Santa Claus. Like... _It's a Wonderful Life_ , _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ , _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_... _Bad Santa_ ," he added with a smirk. Mila gave him a withering gaze. "Okay, you might wanna stay away from that one," he admitted.

"I have also read what my research shows is the quintessential Christmas poem, _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_ ," Mila went on. "Which, as you may know, involves a man discovering Santa Claus leaving gifts in his house on Christmas Eve."

"Yes, I'm familiar with it," Trip assured her.

"I felt it was very much in keeping with the spirit of Papa Nicholas," she judged. Mila stopped suddenly and Trip realized they had walked the perimeter of the upper level. She tapped on her data pad then held it out to Trip again. "Twenty-four tasks, Commander," she pointed out loftily.

Trip just grinned and shook his head. "Well, aren't you just the most diligent little elf in the workshop?"

"Are you going to start inhaling the fumes of burnt leaves and giggling like a container of fruit preserves now?" Mila deadpanned. She had already turned away and headed back towards the main level by the time Trip realized she was joking and burst into laughter.

 

Trip made a beeline for Travis and Hoshi when he spotted them in the Mess Hall at lunch. "Um, have a seat, Commander," Travis remarked, after Trip had already dragged an extra chair over and plopped down on it.

The engineer leaned forward intently, pulled back suddenly to look around the room, then brought himself closer to Travis and Hoshi again. The helmsman and the Comm Officer shared a dubious glance. "You two have been givin' Mila suggestions for Christmas movies," he hissed in an accusatory tone, keeping his voice low.

Hoshi frowned a little. "So? She said she was interested in learning more about the holiday on Earth."

"Yeah," Travis agreed, confusion evident. "She wanted to know all about Santa Claus."

Trip rolled his eyes. "I _know_. But you guys managed to steer her towards movies that say Santa is _real_."

"He isn't?" joked Travis. Trip shot him an acidic glare and the grin died on the helmsman's lips. "I mean, um, well, most movies involving Santa _do_ kind of say he's real. I mean, it'd be a real bummer holiday movie that said, 'No, Virginia, there _isn't_ actually a Santa Claus.'"

"What?" asked Hoshi quizzically.

"Never mind," Trip sighed.

"Anyway, all I did was recommend the most-requested Christmas movies from the database," Hoshi explained, a little defensively."I haven't even seen most of them. But," she added, narrowing her eyes at Trip, "she seemed kind of upset after leaving the Captain's Mess last night. Something about you and the Captain mocking her cultural beliefs?"

"She still believes in Santa Claus!" Trip protested, as if that were reason enough. "It's insane. She's got this whole crazy theory worked out."

"The Venkii have Santa Claus?" Travis asked in amazement.

"Well, they call him Papa Nicholas, but yeah, he's basically the same thing," Trip clarified. "Except, according to _Mila_ , they all think he's a real person. Some kinda magical being."

"I know," Hoshi pointed out. "She was telling me about it the other day. I think it's kind of nice."

" _Nice_?" Trip repeated, slightly aghast. " _Nice_ that she, and possibly her entire clan, are laboring under some kind of mass hallucination involving gift-giving aliens?"

"Well I think there are worse 'hallucinations' to have," Hoshi suggested. "Anyway, there could be a lot of explanations for this tradition."

"She is dead-set against believin' it's either her dad dressin' up and leavin' presents, or some other member of the crew," Trip informed them, shaking his head.

The other two officers thought it over. "What if it's related to how the women control things on the Venkii ships?" Hoshi offered after a moment.

"What do you mean?" asked Trip.

"Well, the way Mila has explained it," she continued, "it sounds like the women could transport something up from the cargo hold at a moment's notice, just by thinking about it, really." Trip nodded, remembering this ability of Mila's. "So what if, on Christmas Eve, the moms just bring in the extra gifts after everyone's gone to bed? It would only take a second."

"I don't know..." the engineer hesitated. "She seems awful certain that the adults are just as surprised by the gifts as the kids."

"Well Mila has _also_ told me that the Venkii women have a lot of... esoteric knowledge that is only passed from mother to daughter," Hoshi went on leadingly. "Maybe this is just one more thing that the women do on the ship, and the men have no clue they're the ones doing it. And maybe," she added, becoming more enthusiastic about the idea, "maybe it's something they only tell you about once you become a wife or even a mother yourself. So Mila wouldn't even know about it."

"D—n," Trip breathed, thinking it over. "That's gotta be it. Doesn't that just seem _exactly_ like something they'd do? All those Venkii moms probably think it's hilarious, to see their husbands go on and on about 'Papa Nicholas' when it's really just _them_." Suddenly he frowned. "Except... Well, Mila swears she actually _saw_ him once, puttin' out the presents. Seems like a lot of trouble for her mom to go to, dressin' up and all, when it would only take a second to transport the gifts." He shrugged. "I dunno, maybe she was just dreamin' or something."

Travis looked unconvinced. "I don't know, I've seen some pretty weird stuff out here," he reminded the others. "It doesn't seem all that bizarre to _me_ that someone, some advanced alien, might learn about their tradition and play along with it."

Trip gave him a look. "That doesn't seem _bizarre_ to you? Like if you have stealth technology to cloak your ship _and_ yourself—like the Suliban, _for example_ —you'd use it to sneak around deliverin' gifts to people you don't even know."

Travis smirked. "Maybe the Suliban are just rogue elves."

"Funny."

The helmsman shook his head, smiling fondly. "We used to have Santa Claus visit the ship when I was a kid," he reminisced. "Not every year, it depended on where we were on the trade routes. In certain sectors there'd be a Boomer captain or some other merchant who had a little holiday sideline going around to ships dressed as Santa, handing out gifts to the kids. We used to _love_ it, since that was the only time we got gifts that were actually _new_ ," he added with a smirk.

"Lotta recycling on a Boomer ship, huh?" Trip commented sympathetically.

Travis shrugged. "Yeah, when you're halfway through a three-year voyage to the nearest planet, it's kind of hard to come up with the latest toys and games. But we ended up _making_ a lot of gifts for each other—half the fun was trying to find somewhere on the ship you could hide and work on them without anyone seeing you!"

"How about you, Hoshi?" Trip prompted. "They have Santa Claus in Japan?"

"Um, kind of," she replied noncommittally. "Christmas was always very commercial where I lived. It's actually more of a romantic holiday."

"What, like Valentine's Day?" Trip asked in surprise.

"Pretty much," she agreed, sounding less than enthused. "All the ads and network specials promote this idea of elaborate marriage proposals around Christmastime—any girl who didn't have a guy to spend Christmas Eve with felt pretty left out." Trip got the impression that Hoshi had felt left out a lot. "On Christmas Eve we eat this special Christmas Cake," she continued with a rueful grin, "so they're in high demand for several days before Christmas but deeply discounted immediately afterwards. My grandmother always used to say girls were like the cakes—everyone wanted them up until they were 25, but after that they would have to make big concessions to get anyone to marry them."

"Ouch," Trip laughed, as Travis shook his head.

"But anyway," Hoshi went on, clearing her throat, "you think Mila is really serious about this Santa Claus/Papa Nicholas thing?"

"Uh, _yeah_ ," Trip assured her. "Demented, but totally serious." He sighed. "Well, maybe next time she asks you guys for movie selections, you could steer her _away_ from Santa? She already seems to think the Captain and I burn the guy in effigy at night or something."

"Yeah, sure," Travis agreed cheerfully. "I'm sure we can find some other great holiday movies for her."

"Thanks," Trip told them, rising from the table and turning back towards Engineering. Another lunch in his office, he decided, grabbing a sandwich from the shelf near the door.

 

"Hey, Malcolm!"

The Tactical Officer glanced up from the data pad he was studying as he strode down the hall. "Commander." He went back to the data pad.

Trip fell in step beside him and was quiet for a few moments. "Um, Malcolm..." he began slowly.

"Yes?"

Trip frowned at the attention his friend was giving the data pad. "What're you reading, anyway?"

Malcolm flipped the pad around so Trip could see the screen, a slightly fanatic glint in his eye. "Schematics for the new Beta-series phase pistol," he replied hungrily.

Trip gave him a dubious glance and handed the data pad back. "Nice, huh?"

"Gorgeous," Malcolm assured him. He was practically drooling on the picture. "I would _love_ to get my hands on one of these..." He looked up at Trip hopefully. "I don't suppose we'll be going anywhere near Earth soon, will we? They've only got them at the Starfleet Weapons Research Facility at Jupiter Station."

"Sorry, Malcolm," Trip informed him, trying to actually _sound_ sorry. Although Malcolm had just provided him with a halfway decent segue. "It'd sure be nice if we were headin' to Earth, though, since it's near the holidays and all. Lot of people would like to see their families, celebrate Christmas or whatever."

"Mmmm," Malcolm responded, not really listening.

Trip decided to get to the point. Sort of. "Did you have Santa Claus when you were a little kid?"

Malcolm finally tore his eyes away from the phase pistol diagram, thinking back. "Father Christmas," he corrected. "And no, he never came round to our house after I accidentally set him on fire one year."

" _What?_ " Trip demanded, when it seemed as though Malcolm had no intention of continuing the story.

"Well, it was the brandy pudding," his friend insisted, sounding a little defensive.

"Wait a minute," Trip said, stopping him in the hall. "You got _drunk_ and set Santa Claus on _fire_?"

"No, nothing like _that_ ," Malcolm replied, sounding slightly horrified. "We used to have a traditional Christmas pudding, soaked in brandy, that was set alight before serving. One year when I was quite young someone decided the children would be thrilled to see Father Christmas appear before them, handing out their gifts." Trip nodded, familiar with this scenario. Malcolm continued in a voice that was only mildly sheepish. "Father Christmas was rather boisterous, and I became a bit... agitated. In the ensuing commotion the flaming brandy pudding ended up all over Father Christmas's beard. The last thing I remember of Father Christmas is him swearing in our next door neighbor's voice and racing out of the house to throw himself facedown into a snow bank."

Trip picked his jaw up off the deck plating. At his silence Malcolm shrugged and continued on his path, the engineer jogging to keep up with him. "Um, so, it was just a _guy_ , well your neighbor, _pretending_ to be Father Christmas, then?"

"Yes, of course," Malcolm confirmed, looking at Trip askance. "After which my parents rather dropped the pretense altogether. Seemed a bit pointless to continue with the charade of Father Christmas bringing me gifts when I'd just given him second-degree burns." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You'd think a man who frequented chimneys would have a fire-proof beard."

"Yeah," Trip agreed helplessly. "So I was just wondering," he continued, when he felt a sufficient amount of time had passed to let Malcolm's Santa _en flambe_ story settle, "if Mila had been talking to you about this Papa Nicholas lately."

"Yes, she mentioned it when she was in the Armory earlier," Malcolm confirmed.

"What'd she say?" Trip probed.

"She was describing his ship to me," the Tactical Officer replied, completely unfazed as far as Trip could tell. "She wanted to make sure I didn't fire upon him when he arrived on Christmas Eve."

"Well, given your history of Santa assault I guess that was probably wise," Trip needled, unable to resist. "Hey wait a minute!" he exclaimed, before Malcolm could follow up the dirty look he'd shot the engineer. "She told _me_ his ship was invisible, undetectable by sensors."

"That's what she told me, too," Malcolm replied. "Apparently she just doesn't want to take any chances."

"You don't think that's weird?" Trip prodded.

Malcolm shrugged. "As the ship's security officer, I appreciate knowing as much as possible about visitors. Especially those who employ stealth technology."

"Papa Nicholas isn't _real_!" Trip insisted, for what he felt was the fifteenth time that day. "It's just some lunatic delusional fantasy of Mila's! Some lie perpetuated on the entire male population and all single women by a conspiracy of mothers linked to some hive mind central computer!"

Malcolm blinked at him, doubtless assessing for himself who the delusional lunatic was. "So you don't think I should assign security details to each airlock over Christmas Eve?" He let Trip gape for a moment then cracked the tiniest smile. "That was a joke, Commander."

Trip rolled his eyes, relieved. "The way things are goin' around here, I'm ready to believe people are capable of _anything_ ," he sighed. "Whatever this Papa Nicholas _really_ is, Mila is absolutely convinced he's gonna leave her presents Christmas Eve. I've been thinkin' about it, and I don't like what's gonna happen when she wakes up Christmas morning to a pair of empty shoes under her potted plants."

"What?" Malcolm asked in confusion.

"Never mind," Trip assured him. "The _point_ is, she's gonna be pretty disappointed."

"Perhaps the Captain could contact her family's ship," Malcolm suggested. "They might be able to... do something."

He didn't sound like he really cared that much, but Trip didn't let that dissuade him from the discussion. "Nah, I already tried that. Captain said last he'd heard from Archelus, they were running trade routes over a hundred lightyears from here. Anyway," he added, "Mila could sense them if a ship got close, even cloaked."

"Well, if you're so concerned about it, Commander," Malcolm told him, "perhaps you should... play Papa Nicholas yourself." He smirked as though he expected Trip to recoil at the idea immediately.

Instead he watched as a sort of light dawned over the engineer's face. "That's a brilliant idea," Trip decided after a moment.

Malcolm suddenly felt nervous. "It is?"

Trip's mind was racing along at warp seven. "It _is_!" He grabbed Malcolm's arm. "Come on, we've got a million things to do!"

"Wait a minute," Malcolm protested, trying to free himself. "'We'?"

"Of course," Trip replied, with the greatest certainty. "It was _your_ idea, _I_ can't do it alone, and"—he gazed at Malcolm sternly—"you've got some serious bad Christmas karma to make up for."

 

 

Trip glanced nervously around the empty hallway. "Are you sure no one's gonna see us?" he whispered to his companion.

Reed shot him an affronted look. "I am the chief of security on this ship," he reminded Trip with a hiss. "If _I_ can't bloody sneak around without being seen, no one can."

"Well don't get your tail feathers in a fluff," Trip advised sagely. "I was just askin'."

"In a _fluff_?" Malcolm repeated indignantly. "What on Earth is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"For the chief of security you sure don't stay focused too well," Trip commented.

Reed rolled his eyes and finally opened the access hatch above his head he'd been working on. It wasn't as simple as just pulling the latch, after all—no, Trip had insisted upon a far more convoluted scheme.

 

Note: Trip decides to ‘play Santa Claus’ by leaving small presents for people in the Mess Hall and decorating the tree. Malcolm helps him ‘break in’ so it will be more mysterious. The next morning, when Trip insists people go to the Mess Hall to see what he’s done, he finds there are _more_ presents there than he left, things that are a bit difficult to explain—like a dictionary for Hoshi from a species they’ve never met, or the Beta series phase pistol for Malcolm. Mila sees this as proof that Papa Nicholas indeed visited them.

 

The sound of a throat clearing made Trip and Malcolm look up from their breakfasts. "Oh, good morning, Hoshi," Trip greeted.

"Join us, won't you?" Malcolm offered, indicating the empty seat at the table.

For a moment the Comm Officer just looked at them. " _Bzzzzzz_ ," she said. Or perhaps 'hummed' was the more appropriate term. Trip and Malcolm looked at each other, then back at her, mystified. " _Bzz_ ," Hoshi repeated, only shorter, as she slid to the left. " _Bzzzzzzzz bzzzzz_." She took a step back. Then she turned her back on them and waggled her butt three times. Finally she faced them again, expression expectant.

There was a slight pause, then Trip and Malcolm burst into laughter. Fortunately Hoshi didn't seem offended by this reaction. "What the h—l?" Trip asked, when he finally could.

"That's Apisian for 'good morning,'" Hoshi informed them smartly, sitting down with her tray.

"Good G-d," Malcolm remarked. "I hope we never meet them, I shan't be able to keep a straight face."

"I think you'd better," Hoshi advised cheerfully. "They have twelve centimeter stingers and, from what I can tell, aren't shy about using them."

"Guess you've been enjoying your new database," Trip surmised, digging into his breakfast.

"The Apisians use a complicated system of buzzing noises and body movements to communicate," she told them excitedly, almost forgetting about her own food. "I could study this language for years."

"How's the Klingon opera coming?" Trip asked, changing the subject quickly.

Malcolm held up his hand peremptorily. "No need to demonstrate that for us, though," he suggested immediately.

 

 

"What can I do for you, Commander?" Archer asked cheerfully, looking up at his First Officer from behind the desk in his Ready Room.

T'Pol stood stiffly, hands clasped behind her back, her face bearing a peculiar almost-expression. "Captain, I have been analyzing some data acquired from the external sensors recently which show an... unusual energy reading."

Archer frowned. "Unusual how?"

T'Pol handed him the data pad she'd been holding, which showed a schematic of _Enterprise_. A trail of bright dots was highlighted, apparently along the hull. "These energy signatures are all that remain of... some phenomenon which came into contact with the surface of the ship."

Archer changed the perspective of the picture, zooming in and out a little. "This is near the starboard airlock, isn't it?" he commented.

"Indeed," T'Pol confirmed. "The energy signatures do not appear to be characteristic of vessels belonging to any species found in our databases, nor of any naturally-occurring phenomena as yet known."

"Was there any damage done to the ship?" Archer asked, trying to assess the situation.

"None that I can detect, sir."

"Do you suspect some kind of... intruder on the ship?" Now he was getting a little confused as to why she had brought this up.

T'Pol paused before answering. "I am merely trying to present you with all the relevant data, sir," she told him coolly.

Archer put the data pad down on the desk, a bit frustrated. "I'm not getting it, T'Pol," he admitted. "If you think this... energy signature is of scientific interest, by all means study it, but I'm just not sure what you want me to say about it."

"These energy signatures were deposited on the ship's hull two nights ago," the Vulcan added.

"Christmas Eve?" Archer remarked, picking the data pad back up to study it.

"Precisely, sir. At approximately 2200 hours."

Archer zoomed even farther in to the picture, until several of the bright spots filled the screen. He paused, momentarily struck by the familiar shape they formed. "My G-d, T'Pol, are these... _hoof prints_?!"

His First Officer's eyebrow hitched up a few millimeters. "No, sir," she countered, her tone subtly indicating she thought he was a few bulbs short of a full strand for asking that. "The appearance of tracks made by hoofed animals on the outer hull of a starship traveling through deep space would be... _highly_ illogical. This is the residue of an energy signature of unknown origin. The energy particles are randomly spaced."

Archer had felt dumb enough after the 'no, sir.' Though he truly appreciated T'Pol going on for another few sentences just to rub it in. He pulled out the 'captainly dignity' card and tried to play it. "So you're telling me a strange energy signature appeared on the hull of our ship at approximately ten p.m. Christmas Eve, and you have no idea what it is or where it came from, but it doesn't seem to have caused any damage, and you don't think it's a security issue," he summarized gracelessly.

"That is correct, Captain. However, given some of the... unusual events which were found to have occurred the next morning, I thought I should bring this to your attention."

T'Pol had a way of making things sound so reasonable, Archer reflected. Even the tracks of Santa's reindeer on _Enterprise_ 's surface. "Thanks," he finally told her. "Feel free to keep looking into it, if you think you can learn any more. Just do me one favor," he added. T'Pol looked at him expectantly. "Don't let Mila find out about this. We'll never hear the end of it."

 

"Commander Tucker."

Trip turned to see Mila striding purposefully down the hall after him and slowed so she could catch up. In the spirit of the season he decided against making a joke about her shorter legs. "What can I do ya for, Mila?" he asked cheerfully.

"I need to speak with you about something," she informed him seriously, and Trip frowned.

"Everything okay?" he questioned with concern.

Looking around, Mila indicated an alcove nearby. "Let's talk over there."

"What's up?" Trip queried again, once they were partially concealed around the corner. He'd just been in Engineering and hadn't heard about any problems. Was she having personnel issues again? Not something wrong with her family, he hoped. He waited a long moment as Mila gathered her thoughts.

"I _know_ that _you_ were behind a number of the 'Papa Nicholas' gifts on Christmas morning," she stated flatly, her expression unreadable.

It was worse than he had feared, and Trip felt distinctly nervous. "Um, well... _no_ ," he insisted, in a tone that didn't even sound convincing to his _own_ ears. "No, no, I had nothing to do with all that..."

"Really?" Mila probed. A slow smile curled across her face. "I thought it was actually quite sweet of you."

"You did?" Trip asked, pleased and surprised at the same time. Not to mention relieved.

"Mmm-hmm," Mila confirmed, stepping closer. "Of course I _know_ a number of the gifts really did come from Papa Nicholas, but it was quite nice of you to go to so much trouble."

"No trouble at all," Trip assured her, looking down into her blue-green eyes.

Mila glanced above their heads where a small piece of the ceiling plate melted before Trip's eyes and reformed into a leafy sprig of metal with several round 'berries' attached. He was still staring at it when she leaned up and gave him a gentle but lingering kiss on the lips. "Too bad," she commented lightly, leaning back. "Guess you only get a _small_ kiss under the mistletoe, then."

"Well, on second thought, I don't wanna lie, it _was_ an awful lot of work," Trip corrected himself, trying to slide his arms around Mila.

She pulled away, a coy smile on her face. "I understand Lt. Reed also assisted with the preparations," she announced. "I'd better go and... _thank_ him as well." She turned and headed pertly down the hall.

Trip's eyes widened at her meaning and he hurried after Mila. "Hey, wait a minute," he insisted. "You won't _want_ to thank Malcolm after I tell you what _he_ did to Santa Claus once..."


End file.
